


Building Pressure

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, give me all the mercy conflict, hopefully i can do more with this, there's a ship if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: Angela Ziegler likes her work. She enjoys being part of an organization, something larger. But in this new world, the new reinvented Overwatch, not everything is as perfect as she might wish.





	Building Pressure

Despite the darkness of night, the air coming off the Mediterranean ocean was warm and balmy, the humidity of the air increasing the sensation of heat to leave the air uncomfortably hot. Angela Zeigler frowned as she reached the top step of the staircase, wrapping her arms around herself as she studied the smooth chrome of the Gibraltar base. The entire complex was much too big, especially for their current roster of agents, but Winston had managed to keep it from being snapped up from any other organizations. She had to give him credit. Despite his non-human origins, Winston had held the new Overwatch together for much longer than she would have imagined. There had to be some nations that were aware of them—her disappearance from the hospital wouldn’t have been unnoticed, despite her train-hopping—and the United States certainly had the web presence to notice the rummaging of a biometrically enhanced gorilla. Maybe he had other contacts?

Whatever the case, Angela was allowed to stand on the roof of the Gibraltar base once more, staring up at the stars and out at the ocean with barely a railing to separate her from open air. In the past, they’d dragged lanterns, heaters, even a grill up here to liven up the space, celebrate the end of successful operations. The medical team was so much larger back then, their labs dedicated to real progress. Angela smiled thinking of it, moving to the edge of the building to find the other wings sprawling below, and tensed as she felt a familiar squeeze of emotion work up her spine.

It wasn’t that she disliked working for Overwatch. That wasn’t it at all. Overwatch was the culmination of so much of her effort, so much of her _life_ poured into the organization—its resurrection was only a good thing for her, since it gave her access to all the resources she thought had been lost in the schism. But she didn’t have a _team_ any more. Sure, Tracer was still around. And Genji, when he could. Angela wasn’t blind to the way the old Overwatch had spread into the new. But she had never been a dedicated combatant, never on the front lines, never forced to choose between “nation” and “mission” and “teammates” and “friends”. And Winston had been so _happy_ to welcome Angela back to the new, reinvented Overwatch, and so eager to shower her with all the old medical equipment, and he’d—of all things, he’d offered to _discuss_ his gene therapy with her! With her! A nothing, half-trained medic who had to struggle to remember the most recent articles on gene therapy relevant to Winston’s case. Not to mention the renewed issues of checking on Lena for time distortion, and Genji’s new casing (skin? Did he call it skin?), and _omnics_.

Omnics.

They’d put an omnic in her sick room.

They’d found an omnic, put him in her sick room, and expected the two of them to “get along” because they both _healed_ _people_.

Angela shook her head, repressing the frustration bubbling in her chest. It wasn’t good to get frustrated. Patients could never see your frustration, your tiredness, your anger. “Bad bedside manner”. And God above, even if she hadn’t always gotten everything right on the tests, she always had _excellent_ bedside manner.

But she didn’t have beds to “bedside manner” beside.

She had a single room with an operating table and huge stacks of papers.

She had the notes of a whole generation of forgotten professors, misfiled and disorganized and out of touch by at least ten years.

She had a tiny exam room to do basic checkups, and if pressed, she could call on individual rooms. But this Overwatch, this new Overwatch, it didn’t have the budget to get her a dedicated assistant. Or a team. The agents didn’t feel any need to report to her after their missions. She’d been given a medical area, but most of the time, the organization seemed to forget she was even in there.

“Whoa. Uh, sorry, Dr. Zeigler.”

“Jesse McCree.” Angela whirled more forcefully than she intended, finding the American frozen with one foot still on the staircase. He met her gaze evenly, raising an eyebrow at last in surprise, and slowly eased himself forward, looking away from her to glance at the ocean in the distance.

“Didn’t know you came up here. Nice night for it, at least.”

“I. I don’t come a lot.” Angela tried to scrub the clipped irritation from her voice, but it was late. And her head was not in the right place for conversation.

 _Oh, to have a decent psychoanalyst again_.

“You could, y’know. I always wondered what was in so much of this place, and now we’ve got th’ run of it. You should see what Genji’s found—“

“I’m surprised you’re around enough to hear about it.” Angela bit back, turning away to wince to herself. McCree didn’t deserve her impatience. Hell, he was barely associated with Overwatch to begin with.

“Hey, at least I came back. More than you can say f’r a lot of our ‘glorious former agents’.” McCree sniffed, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “I wasn’t even—“

“Oh, don’t tell me about Blackwatch again.” Angela rolled her eyes, still holding herself. “You never intended for all this, you were just a kid. You didn’t even belong there. I’ve heard it already.”

“Hey, _I_ decided I liked what this new place was doing. I thought maybe it’d be better than doing it on my own. Because, y’know, I missed having a team! Now I’ve got backup.”

“Isn’t that _dandy_ for you.” Angela said, allowing herself to give in to the irritation.

“Fine, Dr. Zeigler, if you don’t think having a team is worth it—“

“Having a ‘team’ is not my problem!” Angela kept herself from shouting, though barely. “I do not need a ‘team’! I had a team when I worked at Castellanos. I had a team when I worked officially for the UN. I had a team when I worked hospice, for God’s sake, but I do not have anything approaching a ‘team’ here! Not the way I remember it, anyway.”

“The way I remember this place, it was always full of do-gooders with stars in their eyes and more money than sense. Now at least we have some _focus_.” McCree came to stand closer to her, a surprising depth in his tone. “Blackwatch knew what had to be done and we did it. I came back to Overwatch now because I chose to, because—“

“Because we finally match up with your picture of an ideal organization? Good for you, cowboy! It only took the destruction of the entire original thing!”

McCree tilted his head slightly as Angela’s voice rose, watching her quietly as she caught her breath. “You were quite the do-gooder yourself, medic.”

“You always—you came in here, with your guns and your scowls and your…you, all of you, and I just tried—I wanted to accept you, take you as part of the team, but you pulled away and Reyes never spoke and then you tried to recruit _Genji_ and—“ Angela shook her head, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, McCree, I—I shouldn’t have come up here.”

“You really have lost your accent, haven’t you.” McCree stepped closer, making up the space Angela had created before reaching out to grab her wrist. “I thought you’d get more German if you got upset. Hav’ta say, I’m not proud to be proven wrong.”

“I shouldn’t be here.” Angela said flatly, glancing up at McCree. “I just wanted to see—“

“Angela, we’re doing some good here. Even if it’s not the same, we’re—“

“Like you care. You didn’t. You still don’t.”

“Don’t presume you know my motives.” McCree countered, refusing to release the medic. “If you don’t want to be here, tell Winston. With the security measures at this place, he’d probably just let you walk out.”

“But that—he’d try to convince me, and—“ Angela cursed at herself for the rising emotion in her throat, anger and regret and the simple need to cry all bubbling up at once. “And I keep trying, I want to make it work, I want to _stay_ because I was happy before and I want to be happy again, and Winston and Lena are happy here, and even you—even _you’re_ feeling good about this current arrangement, and I’m the only one who can’t—“

With a rush of air, Angela found herself pulled against McCree’s chest, her eyes brimming with tears as she hid her face in the rough fabric of his shirt. Everything still felt so wrong, the fact that she was here, that she’d half-way confessed all this to _McCree_ , of all people, but the pressure had finally overwhelmed her. The dam had finally burst. With loud, undignified sobbing, Angela clung to McCree as best she could, letting the emotion rush through her.

She couldn’t tell quite how long it lasted. One moment, it felt like hours had passed, and then the next moment she’d feel as if he’d only just grabbed her hand. As her sobs began to ease, muffled into soft hiccups, Angela finally noted the pressure of McCree’s arms around her, and as she pulled herself away from him, his arms dropped away to let her step back.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, and in a sudden rush, both spoke at once.

“Dr. Zeigler, I’m sorry—“

“I only ever wanted to be your friend, Jesse.”

McCree blinked, tilting his head again to study Angela. “You’re not okay.”

“I’m okay now. Sorry. About that. I should—“

“Angela, if you want to leave Overwatch, you should.”

“It’s…I don’t know.” Angela took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

“I assume that’s why you came up here—to think, I mean. It’s a good place.”

“I just…why now, Jesse? I tried so hard for years to get you to like me. I wanted to—I just wanted to be your friend, and to know you, and you never—and _now_ , this is the time you choose to come up here and tell me everything is going to be fine? How?”

“Heh, well. That’s actually the easier one of your questions, doc.” McCree allowed himself an easy smile, turning to lean against the railing. “All you Overwatch agents were too _perfect_. All smiles, and rainbows, and brilliant beautiful faces. Like those stock photos in the ads. You were too fake. Blackwatch—well, the way I understood Blackwatch—saw the reality of the world and faced it, head-on. Overwatch used to just try and paint over it.”

“Jesse, I never felt that way.” Angela said.

“You never gave me a chance to find out otherwise.” McCree replied. “Guess it took a schism, a decade of not seeing each other, and years of mental distress to prompt it.”

Despite herself, Angela felt the statement to be irreplaceably funny, and began to giggle as she put a hand to her mouth. “Sorry. I—sorry.”

“No, don’t. It’s funny.” McCree’s smile grew stronger, and he watched with quiet pleasure as Angela laughed aloud. “You sure you okay? That was, um. I don’t want to be, uh, insensitive, but you…”

“I just cried on your shirt and now I’m laughing? I suppose.” Angela shook her head, brushing her bangs away from her face. “I could run a few tests. You know, in the old days, we had a psychologist on site who could actually talk to us. Help us with things.”

“I see there’s a lot from the old days you miss.” McCree said softly.

“I…yes. But that’s no reason to force you into nostalgia with me.” Angela maintained a quiet smile, reaching up to pat McCree’s shoulder, then nodded once. “Especially if that nostalgia isn’t especially good for you.”

“It had its moments.”

“Go to sleep, McCree. I…thank you, for coming up, but don’t worry about me. You’re a valuable agent, and you’re doing good work.” Angela said. “Keep it up.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” McCree watched as Angela moved back to the staircase, her hair suddenly lit from below as she descended. With only one occupant of the roof, a sudden summer silence descended on the Overwatch compound, and tilting his head to the sky, McCree smiled. Angela wasn’t half-bad, all things considered. They’d gotten older. More experienced. She didn’t quite have that shiny, bright-eyed naivety anymore. And even though it might seem callous of him to think, the new look suited her.

Maybe he’d find a reason to stop by the medical rooms, sooner rather than later.

 


End file.
